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I grit a smile, pushing down all the aggravation bubbling to the surface. There’s so much I’d love to say in response, but before I have the opportunity, Anderson steps in and wraps me in his arms.
“Hey, Ezzy.”
I close my eyes and bask in his embrace, reminding myself why I’m here. Who I’m doing this for. I can’t allow my brother to go through this alone.
When Anderson releases me, he looks to Tristan, extending his hand.
“Your Highness.” He bows, to which Anderson rolls his eyes.
“Good to see you, mate.”
Tristan takes Anderson’s hand, and he pulls him in for a quick hug.
“Sorry about the other day,” my brother whispers. “I, uh… I wasn’t in the best headspace.”
“No apologies necessary. How are you now?”
“Up and down,” he answers honestly.
“Well, we’re here for you.”
“Thanks.” Anderson turns his eyes toward me. “For everything. I know this isn’t what you planned.”
“Nothing in life ever is.” I grab his hand and squeeze. “But like with everything else life has thrown our way, we’ve gotten through it. Together. And we’ll get through this together, too.”
He gives me an appreciative smile as another impeccably dressed man in a tuxedo approaches, probably one of the members of my father’s privy council, since he often extends invites to them.
But when I turn toward him, I inhale a sharp breath, my heart plummeting to the pit of my stomach as I stare at a living reminder of exactly what I fought to escape.
“Your Highness.” He bows, but his eyes never leave mine, expectation swirling within.
Sensing everyone’s attention on us, I snap out of my shock and offer him my hand. “Mr. Gates.”
He gives me a sly smile. “I told you. Call me Jameson.”
ChapterTen
Esme
“How have you been?”Jameson leans toward me, his familiar leather and citrus scent kicking up around me, transporting me back in time.
As if I haven’t been reliving the past enough this week.
I expected that, though. Expected to see my grandmother. My father. Even Creed.
But I never anticipated seeing Jameson Gates again. At least not as a guest of the royal family at the opera.
Did Anderson know he’d be here? Why didn’t he tell me?
I glance at my brother, a flicker of an apology in his eyes. Even if he did know Jameson would be here, I get the feeling he’d forgotten. I can’t blame him. He has enough on his plate right now. The last thing he needs to concern himself with is who’s been invited to attend the opera in the royal box on opening night.
“I heard about your work with trafficking survivors,” Jameson continues when I remain mute, still processing this turn of events. “As you may recall, I do quite a bit of work fighting human trafficking myself, so I know how difficult it is for many victims to move on. Teaching them marketable skills and giving them the confidence to make their way in the world, well, it’s a remarkable undertaking.”
“It’s been quite a rewarding experience,” I respond as evenly as possible, making sure to keep any hint of warmth out of my tone.
I can almost feel the hushed whispers of the other patrons on my skin. Sense their eyes watching us. The only saving grace is the fact that no reporters are allowed in the theater. That won’t prevent people from snapping photos with their mobiles, though. Especially when Tristan splays his hand on my back, his touch borderline possessive in nature.
Normally, I hate this kind of gesture. Hell, I hated when Jameson did this precise thing during or fake relationship, especially in front of Creed.
